Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE ANCIENTS, by WILLIAM ROSE BENET Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The ancients wiled him while he slept Last Line: Lest honor die from elder days. Subject(s): Past | ||||||||
The ancients wiled him while he slept. On all his ways a watch they kept. At his bed's foot they stood in sight, And bade him rise when day grew light To other dreams than he should quest. They would not ever let him rest. Why, he had gazed upon the face Of victory at Samothrace And all the glory that was hers. With bronzed Phoenician mariners At Gades by the western gate He had seen Melkarth's nuptial state In sunset splendors manifest O'er the far Islands of the Blest. With Cyrus 'neath the colored walls Of Ecbatana -- in the halls Of Nero's golden house, where flowers Rained on the guests at banquet hours -- He had inhaled the strange perfume Of ancient gorgeousness and gloom. And he had seen the cedar beams Of Solomon's palace in his dreams, And stood with Croesus to behold The Lydian river foaming gold. With Hassan, as Arabians say, He had been caliph for a day. The Theban three had dazed his sight; The high priest chanting to the light, With antique litanies between; The white bull through the incense seen; And queens had passed with peacock fans, Their naos borne by Africans: Delicious beauty decked at ease With corals from Erythrean seas And whelky pearls plucked from the deep. Battles had burst across his sleep. He stood with Cocles at the bridge; With Hannibal he clomb the ridge; Felt a Scaevola's haughty ire To thrust his arm into the fire And laugh for scorn. Or he would call Torqued Manlius who slew the Gaul Unto his aid in times of stress. More than Thalassius' happiness He had wrested from the Sabine past. He had stood with those about the mast Whom Theseus succoured with his fleet Daring the brazen man of Crete. He had seen the Thirty's treacheries Slay houseless Alcibiades, And with the few who held the pass Had likewise cheered Leonidas. So vivid to him were their stories That he would stammer o'er their glories, In his small, dingy room, at me -- Some soiled page smoothed upon his knee. He drudged all day, but, once upstairs At night, the ancients claimed him theirs. He grudged his hurried supper time Till he was home, with prose or rhyme To swing the gate or burst the gyve; And then the man became alive. And so he failed as man with men, And so his stature grew again By night, o'er history or fable, With the lamp smoking on the table -- Boy to the last and steeped in glory. His living was a different story? Yet who can doubt his life's amends. I have known far less worthy ends Than his; to pulsate with a passion And heroism out of fashion, To steep himself in ancient color Till good gray life grew all the duller; I have known far paltrier ends, I say, To gain the acclaim of this our day. His hero worship filled the lack Of all a man wants at his back; Friends, wealth, position, fame, a wife. He never wished these things of life, -- Nor just desired his hunger fed As reliquary of the dead, -- But fanned a rare, bright flame of praise Lest honor die from elder days. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FERGUS FALLING by GALWAY KINNELL A TIME PAST by DENISE LEVERTOV LAST THINGS by WILLIAM MEREDITH CHRISTMAS TREE by JOHN FREDERICK NIMS THIS MORNING, GOD by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR THE FALCONER OF GOD by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |
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